Miracles
by Ultramatt17
Summary: Even the most insignificant events or people can change the course of history.  Here is but one example.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender. Not Pikachu! Please don't sue!

Miracles

By Ultramatt17

Chapter 1

This is a story about miracles. When people think of miracles, they tend to imagine the works of holy men or tremendous events that defy explanation. Though these things do happen and can be classified as miracles, few realize that each of these momentous acts or occasions are merely the end result of a series of smaller events. The timely storm that sinks a hostile fleet starts with the flapping of the wings of a single butterfly. The true power of miracles, you see, is not in the outcome; it is in the journey.

Not everyone is blind to the chain of events that leads to great things. Many see them as mere coincidences, or perhaps lump them together with that wonderful term called "luck." Many of these same people marvel at the "luck" of others, though one player in our story refuses to even _want_ "luck." They see the hardships in their life as the absence of something, but they are mistaken. What they suffer from is not a lack of miracles, but a failure to perceive the miracles that have led them to where they are and the ones leading them forward. They fail to grasp that—as another of our players once mused—perhaps things are the way they are meant to be.

The day was entirely too beautiful for Kazen to spend cooped up in the back of a wagon. Outside, the boy could hear the sounds of sparrowkeets chirping and singing, and the flaps of the wagon's canvas cover swayed with what was surely a cooling breeze. And yet, here he was, stuck in the stuffy confines of a Fire Nation supply wagon, trying to copy strange symbols with a brush and paper.

Placing his assignment aside for a moment, Kazen risked a peek outside. Poking his head through the leather flap, the boy took in a deep breath. There was indeed a gentle breeze going across the mountain pass, carrying the smells of the many flowers that were in bloom. Of course, the breeze also carried the smell of the two Komodo Rhinos that pulled the wagon, but theirs was a smell he had long since grown accustomed to.

With a contented sigh, the boy emerged fully from the wagon. Kazen was not a particularly handsome boy—at least not by his own measure—but nor was he ugly. If he were to be described in a single word, it would be "average." Kazen did not really mind the term; ten-year-olds rarely think of themselves as anything else. He was a thin boy, perhaps four and a half feet tall, with hazel eyes. His dark brown hair was drawn up into a traditional topknot, though the heat and humidity of the wagon had caused it to sag slightly.

"Kazen, what are you doing?" came a voice to the boy's left. He turned to see his father emerge from down the path, a stern look on his face. Much like his son, Zhen was average in almost every sense of the word. Aside from the prominent blade scar on his right cheek, he looked like any other Fire Nation laborer: ragged, yet strong.

"I'm just taking a break, Dad," Kazen replied nonchalantly.

"You've already taken two breaks today, and it's barely noon. Get back in there and finish your studies," Zhen reprimanded.

"But Dad," the boy whined, "it's way too hot in there. Besides, the wagon bounces around so much that it's hard to write."

Zhen seemed to think about that for a moment. "Alright, you can ride in the front. But only if you bring your work with you."

"Thanks, Dad!" the boy beamed. As he ducked inside the wagon to grab his things, it never occurred to him that this would be the last time he would see his father alive.

Kazen truly did not know what hit him. First, he felt the wagon begin to shake. Then came shouts of "Earthbenders!" from the soldiers outside. Before he could even process that much, he heard a crash, followed by the sensation of being flung from the wagon. As his eyes were forced to once again adjust to bright daylight, he got a wonderful view of the long and very steep slope rushing up to meet him.

Large miracles can be best appreciated when see the smaller ones that make them possible—even if those who live through them do not see them as miracles at all. The first miracle that befell young Kazen occurred just as the deadly attack was launched. High above the caravan, a group of a dozen earthbenders lay in wait. When their commander gave the order to attack, one soldier was late in launching his opening strike. Perhaps the soldier was nervous, or inexperienced, or perhaps he did not hear the order at first.

For whatever reason, that one soldier sent his salvo of rocks a half second later than his peers. One half of one second does not seem like much time, but as any marksman or athlete will attest, one half of one second can make all the difference. In this case, that slightest of delays saved Kazen's life. Instead of striking the front of the wagon, as the soldier had intended, that first boulder struck the wagon low and towards the rear. Instead of crushing the front, it lifted the rear skyward, sending it down the mountainside.

The second miracle occurred just seconds later as Kazen began his rather eventful trip down the mountainside. As the boy flailed about, his hand managed to grab hold of a small bush. Though the plant gave way almost immediately, it ultimately saved Kazen's life as well. When he grabbed the plant his momentum caused him to change course, sliding him just over a foot to his left. Had that plant not been there, or had he not gotten hold of it he almost certainly would have been struck by a rather large boulder that flew through the space he had just vacated.

The next miracle was not something that Kazen would likely have labeled as such. Nonetheless, it was a miracle, for it too prolonged his life. About halfway down the slope, as Kazen tumbled head over heels down the mountain, one of the boulders from the attack caught up with him. The boy never really saw what hit him this time, either. As Kazen began yet another rotation, he caught a flash of movement and instinctively brought up his arms to protect his head.

Though his right arm would pay a hefty price, it succeeded in its mission. The boulder—easily the size of the boy's torso—struck him in the right forearm. The bones in his arm snapped like twigs, but they had absorbed enough of the impact so that when the boulder followed through and struck the boy's head, it only knocked him out. This loss of consciousness was a blessing in disguise, for it forced his body to go limp. This had two effects. First, his body's newfound lack of resistance prevented many more possible fractures. More importantly, it prevented him from feeling the pain that was about to follow.

At the foot of the mountain Kazen met up with the wagon he had previously been riding—or rather, he met up with the contents of that wagon. The caravan had been made of several wagons, each bearing supplies for the new Fire Nation base of New Ozai. Mainly, the wagons had been bearing food and weapons. Kazen's wagon, however, had been one of three that had been carrying bedrolls and linen goods. So, instead of colliding with a spear or a broken sword, Kazen quite literally collided with a pile of pillows.

The bedrolls cushioned the boy enough to break his fall, but they would not be able to withstand the landslide that followed young Kazen. The remnants of the wagon, however, would make one last sacrifice for its former occupant. One large boulder collided with the wagon, obliterating it. The impact did adjust the boulder's course, so instead of landing on the boy's torso or skull, it merely landed on his outstretched left leg. Had the boy been conscious, he certainly would have cried out in agony as his femur was shattered. Fortunately, he never felt a thing.

Other boulders and rocks soon began to accumulate at the foot of the mountain, and in a matter of minutes, the boy was completely buried in dirt and small rocks. Again, this was a blessing in disguise. While he would be invisible to any passers-bye on the foothill path on which he now found himself, he was also invisible to the earthbenders that arrived after the fighting had ceased.

Under normal circumstances, these earthbenders would have meant rescue for the unconscious young boy. However, these soldiers were under the command of one General Cheng. As Kazen and General Cheng would eventually cross paths, it would be rather rude to say why he did _not_ want to be rescued by General Cheng's men just yet. Suffice to know that it was very fortunate that the soldiers did not find him.

And so we see how a major miracle is born. Through a series of events—perhaps coincidence, perhaps luck, or perhaps destiny—a young boy survived a tremendous fall. Though he is alive, Kazen finds himself in a very precarious position: alone, wounded, partially buried alive and—though he does not know it—orphaned. Fortunately, whatever spirits allowed Kazen to survive his fall would not let him die here. The story of his rescue would be another miracle; one that would begin with the flapping of wings.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I still don't own Avatar. Fiddlesticks.

Chapter 2

Of all the insects that inhabit the mountainous regions of the Earth Kingdom, few are held in as low regard as the mosquito moth. Though its wide wings boasted a variety of bright colors, the locals regard them as pests that are to be swatted on sight. Mosquito moths, you see, feed primarily on blood, and their bites leave an itchy rash that can last for days. It is ironic, then that a young boy from the Fire Nation would owe his life in no small part to this common pest.

Our heroic mosquito moth was not remarkable in any way. In fact, her green wings and tan thorax were decidedly paler than others of her species. Indeed, this particular bug was nearing the end of her life, having reached the ripe old age of two months.

On this particular day, the mosquito moth found herself resting on a very leafy bush at the foot of a mountain. She waited patiently, knowing that eventually a human or other creature would wonder by to provide what might be her last meal. Within moments, a human would indeed pass by her little bush, but by then she would be long gone. Besides, the human child would be buried too quickly for her to have gotten more than a snack, anyhow.

Before the human arrived, however, she would encounter another guest: a very large wagon. The wagon, a monstrosity of wood and steel to our little insect, landed with a very loud "THUD" not two feet from her bush. Naturally, the bug was startled, and it took to the air as quickly as its tired old wings could bear her. She fluttered about aimlessly; every way she turned, there was another loud and startling sound from the mountainside.

Deciding that this particular area had become entirely too dangerous for her taste, she fled north. She flew for some distance, and likely would have landed on another tree or bush had she not been swept away in a sudden updraft. Opinions vary on the source of this updraft. Some would chalk it up as a result of heated air rising to a higher altitude. Others would argue that it was the work of the wind spirits, who may or may not have taken pity on the young boy buried in rubble. Perhaps another mosquito moth taking flight half a world away caused the updraft.

Regardless, the updraft carried our little insect much higher and much farther than she would normally be able to fly. She rode the air current for many hours and many miles. Finally, she came into contact with a large, white fluffy creature. If she had had the mental ability, she might have questioned what a two-ton fluffy monster was doing so high in the air. As it was, she was just grateful to finally find a meal. She gorged herself on the blood of this strange mammal before departing the scene and our story.

Mosquito moths are not hated just because their bites leave an irritating rash; the bites often carry disease. Our mosquito moth, like many of her kind, had been carrying a sickness in her saliva. Fortunately for her latest victim, she only carried a strain of the common cold. Unfortunately, the large furry beast had not developed any immunity to the disease. Had the creature been born within the last five years or so, he would have developed a resistance to this particular strain. This creature, however, was a Sky Bison—the last of his kind. To make matters worse, he had spent the last one hundred years frozen in ice, and had never encountered the sickness before.

As a result, the virus spread quickly. By nightfall, the poor beast was sneezing and running a fever. Though he was far too hardy to be felled by a simple cold, he could no longer continue flying. His passengers, a group of talented and very important children, decided that it would be best to let the great beast rest and recover his strength. They came to rest near a foothill road not five miles from where the Mosquito Moth began her journey.

The next morning, the oldest of the group, a lad of the Southern Water Tribe, decided that they should take the opportunity to replenish their dwindling supplies. The younger of the two girls decided to accompany him, as the thought of being near a sick Sky Bison did not really appeal to her. It was quite fortunate for Kazen that she, and not the older girl, decided to go. Though this younger girl was blind, she had another sense that would save his life.

If she could, Toph would gladly choose to be deaf. At least that way she wouldn't have to listen to Sokka's near-constant complaints. Sure, Snoozles could be fun and all, but he didn't know when to shut up.

"…I can't believe she wants us to bring back so much stuff!" he rambled to no one in particular. "Three pounds of flour, twelve bags of rice, four bags of fruit, and that's just the _food!_"

"Well, you were the one who said we needed to stock up on stuff," she sighed.

"Yeah, but I didn't know were so low! Besides, I thought I'd have at least three other sets of hands to help carry everything back."

"You know that Aang still isn't in any shape to do heavy lifting," she retorted, annoyance seeping into her voice. It was true; it had been two weeks since the fall of Ba Sing Se and Aang had yet to fully recover from Azula's lightning attack. "And Katara decided to stay behind to see if she could get Appa feeling better sooner. Besides, we have more than enough hands as it is." With a quick movement of her hand, Toph created a platform of earth and began pushing it forward.

"There's just no arguing with you when you go and make sense," Sokka pouted. Toph smirked as they continued walking in silence. The quiet was not to last, as a mile later they found their path blocked by a pile of rocks at least twenty feet high.

"Oh man," Sokka muttered. "This must have been one heck of a rockslide."

"You got that right, Snoozles," she replied. She placed a hand on one of the boulders, using earthbending to "see" its thickness. "This rubble is at least a hundred feet thick." A smirk crossed her lips. This would be a piece of cake to move. But then she sensed something else, and her smirk vanished. "There's somebody buried in there!"

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I can feel a heartbeat. It's faint, but there's definitely somebody in there." Toph wasted no time in taking her stance and clearing the rubble. Though she could have cleared the area in a matter of seconds, she worked slowly and carefully; one wrong move might kill the person she was trying to save. Every few moments she would stop and listen for the faint heartbeat.

After nearly half an hour of work she knew she was getting close. The heartbeat felt much stronger, and she could even hear muffled moaning. Finally, she burst into a small air pocket and found her quarry.

"Oh man, this doesn't look good," said a worried Sokka. The survivor—a boy even younger than her own twelve years—lay in an odd position, his left leg under a large boulder. "He's unconscious," Sokka said as he rushed to the boy's side. "Looks like his right arm is broken…I don't feel any other breaks, but I doubt that that leg is in very good shape." Though Toph couldn't see it, a look of recognition spread across Sokka's features. "Wait a sec, this kid's Fire Nation!"

"So what's the plan, Idea Guy?" Toph said after a pause. Sokka thought for a moment.

"I don't like having to move him, but I don't think we have any choice. Can you take care of that rock on his leg?" Toph nodded. With slow movements, she used her abilities to lift the boulder as gently as possible. The boy whimpered, but did not wake. Once the boulder was clear, Sokka began looking around. "We need something to carry him with, like a stretcher."

"Way ahead of you, Snoozles," Toph replied. With a flick of her wrists, she summoned another flat slab of rock—a solid stone stretcher. Together, the pair placed the boy on the makeshift stretcher as gingerly as possible. Sokka took a seat on the stretcher and held the boy's head steady. Meanwhile, Toph took her position behind him. She took hold of the stretcher with both hands and, with kick, began sliding the three of them back to the camp.

"Here you go, Appa," said Katara as she laid a bowl of green liquid at the Bison's feet. "Try this; it should help you stop sneezing." The great beast let out a grunt of acknowledgement and began drinking the medicine in huge laps. Finishing quickly, Appa sat back down on his haunches and fell back to sleep.

Katara hated to see the Sky Bison like this; when Appa wasn't sleeping he was either sneezing or moaning pitifully. It reminded her of Aang's condition over the last two weeks. The young Avatar had spent much of that time asleep, awaking only to be fed or when his wounds ached—which had been often. The boy had only started walking again three days ago, and even then he required the assistance of his staff to do so.

She felt a sudden, burning hatred for Zuko and Azula. The Fire Princess had struck to kill with her lightning attack. If she hadn't bee there to catch Aang… She pushed that thought aside. But as much as she hated Azula, she hated Zuko even more. It was bad enough that he had sided with his sister, but he had _lied_ to her in that cave. To think that she had believed him when he said that the Fire Nation took his mother away! Only the son of the Fire Lord would lie about something like _that_.

"You okay?" Katara looked up. Aang was standing over her, his weight leaning on his staff and a concerned look on his face.

"Yeah, sorry," she said quickly. "I was just thinking." He seemed to accept this, as he nodded and sat down next to her, hissing slightly as he did so. She frowned at him. "You should be resting."

"I know, but I needed a break. It seems like I've been doing nothing but resting for two weeks," he said with a silly grin. His smile vanished under her withering frown. Seeing his expression dampen, Katara let out a sigh.

"I know that you're trying to cheer me up, Aang, but this isn't something to joke about. You had a really close call in Ba Sing Se. You came this close t-to…" she could not bring herself to say the word: "dying."

"Yeah," Aang replied, staring intently at his feet. "But the world needs me. I'm not going to be able to master all the elements lying down. I need to be back on my feet as soon as possible."

Before Katara could remind him that even the Avatar needs to rest, she heard the distinct sound of rock sliding across earth. Toph and Sokka were back.

"Well, that sure was fa—oh my gosh!" Katara gasped. Toph was pushing along a flat slab of rock that bore Sokka and a very hurt looking boy. "What happened?" she asked hurriedly as she and Aang rushed to their sides.

"There was a rockslide on the road about five miles from here. This kid got caught up in the middle of it," Sokka replied. Toph brought the makeshift stretcher to a stop in the middle of the camp. Katara began examining the boy, gently checking the extent of his injuries.

"This isn't good," she muttered. The boy's right arm was broken, though she was sure she could repair it. She felt all over his torso, noting a myriad of bruises and cuts but not finding any other fractures. She let out a gasp when she came to his left leg; from what she could gather, his femur hadn't just been broken—it had been crushed. It was a miracle that he hadn't died from internal bleeding. She took a deep breath. Though she had not had much time to study healing at the North Pole, she was not about to let that stop her from trying.

"Ok, listen up!" she barked. "Toph, I'm going to need an earth tent, a big one like when we delivered the baby. Sokka, I need water, and lots of it. Aang, bring me any bandages we have." Without a word, the others scrambled to their tasks and within minutes she was ready to begin.

As she expected, the arm and the bruises were easy to heal. However, the leg was more difficult than anything she had yet attempted. She forced the water around her hands deep into the boy's thigh, using it to gather the hundreds of broken pieces together. From there she began the arduous process of reassembling the bone. Even though she had a rough understanding of anatomy, she was certain that she had gotten at least part of it wrong. Still, after several hours, she was confident that she had saved the leg from amputation.

It was late into the night before she was finished. She wrapped both the boy's arm and his leg in bandages and a splint—though the bones had been repaired, they would still need to heal naturally for a few days before they were fully set. She felt confident that the arm would heal normally, but the leg…

Even though she was exhausted, Katara volunteered to take the first watch over her patient. The boy had not stirred at all while she had worked and now lay unconscious on the table, wrapped in Aang's blankets. She looked him over again. The boy was clearly Fire Nation: his skin was pale, and when she had checked his eyes she found them to be amber. She guessed that he was about ten years old, though she had no idea what he had been doing so far into the Earth Kingdom. Sokka had returned to the sight of the slide and had found the remains of soldiers and military wagons. Had this boy been in the army?

Somehow, Katara doubted that. As cruel and ruthless as she knew the Fire Nation to be, she couldn't imagine that they would send children this young to fight. She looked at his face again. He looked so innocent and peaceful, she thought. She listened to his slow, rhythmic breathing. She was so focused on the boy that she never felt herself slip into a deep slumber.

The sound of screaming wrenched her from her sleep. Sitting bolt upright, she looked from side to side as she searched for the source of the disturbance. She looked at the table and saw that the Fire Nation boy was thrashing about and screaming in his sleep.

"Dad!" he called out. "I'm falling! Where are you?!"

Worried that he might cause himself further injury, she leapt to his side and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders. The boy's eyes shot open. With his uninjured hand, he grabbed Katara hard by the arm.

"Please," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't let me fall!" His eyes were locked with hers, but they were unfocused. Was he still living his nightmare? "Please don't let me fall!" he repeated, louder this time.

"It's okay," she replied quickly. "I'm not going to let you fall." His grip tightened painfully.

"

Promise?" he asked, his voice wavering. Katara could see the tears streaming down his face.

"I promise, I won't let you fall." The boy continued to stare at her unseeingly. Slowly, his grip loosened and he closed his eyes. Within moments, he had once again slipped into a deep slumber.


End file.
